


Smile

by inspiredbythemusic



Series: NCT Dream Drabbles [1]
Category: K-pop, NCT (Band), NCT Dream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:09:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23622103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inspiredbythemusic/pseuds/inspiredbythemusic
Summary: y/n is in an emotionally abusive relationship at the start of the story
Relationships: Na Jaemin/Reader, Na Jaemin/You
Series: NCT Dream Drabbles [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1700380
Kudos: 18





	Smile

**Author's Note:**

> y/n is in an emotionally abusive relationship at the start of the story

“I’m so proud of you, Jisung!” You cooed upon learning that your baby brother earned his first part-time job. 

Jisung mumbled, “Ah, cut it out,” but he couldn’t fight his smile as he squirmed to escape your embrace and efforts to pinch his rosy cheeks. “I don’t act like this when you make the honor roll at your college—”

“That’s because my academic excellence has become expected, almost unimpressive,” you joked confidently, almost choking on laughter when Jisung groaned at your mock arrogance. “But you—” you poked his arm— “you’ve always been a precious baby, so it’s weird to watch you step into the adult world.”

Having learned long ago that he would always be a baby in your eyes, Jisung didn’t waste his breath arguing that he was kind of, basically, technically an adult. He blinked at you and tilted his head so it laid against the back of the couch. “I don’t think about it like that. It’s just a job at the cafe, and I’m only doing it because my friends are.”

Spending time with Jisung was refreshing because his simple, youthful outlook challenged your habit of overanalyzing. That aspect of your relationship hadn’t changed since you enrolled in the local university. Jisung was still very much your baby brother; yet, as he laid back and stretched his legs over your lap and his socked feet dangled off the arm of the couch, you realized with a gasp that he was growing up. He was growing up, and he didn’t think anything about it while you mourned every second of lost youth. To Jisung, the next steps in life— which terrified you— were fun, a casual adventure with his friends. 

What would it be like, you wondered enviously, to be like Jisung? 

You wouldn’t ask. Even if you did, Jisung wouldn’t know how to answer. 

As he playfully wiggled his toes into your ribs, and you laughed while swatting at his denim-clad legs, a voice sounded through his headset. The words were unintelligible, but the tone was unmistakable: annoyed. They prompted Jisung to sit upright, plant his feet on the carpeted floor, and unpause his video game. Although his gaze was fixed on the flashing screen, he covered only one ear with the headset. 

He heard you ask, “Who is that?”

“Jaemin,” Jisung whispered out of the side of his mouth and covered the microphone so his friend wouldn’t hear. 

Because he was playing with just one hand, Jisung caused his team to lose. The loss was evident from the crimson text— “YOU LOSE”— filling the black screen, the slackjawed frown on Jisung’s face, and (especially) from the shrieks breaking through the headset. 

Jisung chanted, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” but the shrieks rang on. 

Your face flushed as rage burned in your gut. “Still Jaemin?”

A mere nod was Jisung’s answer. He didn’t bother to push away the bangs that had fallen into his eyes. 

“What is he even saying?” You hissed. 

“Nothing really,” Jisung shrugged away from your question. 

You were overprotective of Jisung— you wouldn’t deny that. His willingness to defend his buddy despite his obviously flaring tempter fuelled your frustration. Maybe, you thought later, you shouldn’t have disliked that Jaemin kid that much considering you had never even seen him. 

Rolling your eyes, you bossed, “Tell him that it’s just a game. You can play again until you win.”

Jisung shook his head and calmly explained, “That’s the worst thing to say to a raging gamer, Y/N—”

“Are you talking to a girl?” Jaemin roared loudly enough for you to hear. “Is _that_ why we lost the tournament? Because you’re flirting with a _girl_?”

Sensing that you were reaching to snatch the headset to rival Jaemin’s temper, Jisung jumped up, stood as tall as he could on the couch so you couldn’t quite reach his head no matter how hard you stretched, and huffed at Jaemin, “I’m talking to my sister, not flirting, and I have to go!” He disconnected the headset and turned the game off before you could say anything to threaten his friendship with Jaemin. 

You slumped down on the cushion. “You must have made some really nice friends while I’ve been busy busting my butt at school.”

“He is nice!” Jisung stepped off the couch. Frowning as you rolled your eyes again, he grumbled, “There’s no point in talking when people are too angry to listen,” before sulking away to his bedroom, embarrassed by his scoldings. 

You regretted letting him walk away, but you resolved to comfort him later after tensions died down. 

* * *

Because you were determined to be a kind person, you surrounded yourself with people who didn’t boil your blood. So, to tolerate Jaemin— which was as close as you could get to liking him as Jisung wanted— you had to maintain a safe distance. For the sake of peace, Jaemin had to remain a faceless name spoken into Jisung’s headset, and you would try not to roll your eyes whenever you heard it. 

Despite what anyone says, you didn’t walk into the cafe that night with the intention of meeting Jaemin face to face. In fact, had you known that he was the friend Jisung followed into the workforce, you wouldn’t have agreed to pick your brother up after his shift. That was childish; since you were already in town after your last class, it only made sense that you should be the one to wait for him in the parking lot. 

You were patient at first. Then, minutes passed, and you had to turn the car off to save gas, and the almost-summer heat baked the car until you lost all self-control. Had you rushed into the air-conditioned cafe sooner, before you were seething at the realization that you had wasted over an hour waiting for Jisung (who was still scrubbing down tables like Cinderella well into the night on his first day), you might have missed Jaemin’s lecture that pushed your temper to its breaking point.

You couldn’t have recognized Jaemin by his neatly combed hair or crystalline smile. You knew him by the frustrated tone he used to scold Jisung without looking up from the register where he stood counting the day’s earnings. “You made too many stupid mistakes today, Jisung! I can forgive you for forgetting the day’s special once or twice, but every time you talked to a customer— if you can’t be bothered to memorize something so simple—”

“Ahem.” 

The boys’ attention snapped away from their work to gawk at you with wide eyes when you cleared your throat. 

“— you can always just look at this chalkboard,” Jaemin concluded less sternly, pointing at an overheard sign that boasted: ‘Today’s Special: Green Tea Latte.’

Jaemin’s bug-eyed stare provoked you to quip, “Is that all you do— for fun and for work? Yell at Jisung?”

“Huh?” Jaemin’s jaw dropped in an innocent schoolboy expression that might have been adorable if he hadn’t already landed on your bad side. 

This was your biggest fault: you put too much weight in first impressions. Of course, you could easily apologize after realizing that you had misjudged somebody. You even had a consistent record of forgiving inexcusable offenses against yourself. What you couldn’t forgive or forget were attacks against Jisung, and you had just witnessed Jaemin’s second strike. 

Acting as the mediator between your wrath and Jaemin’s confusion, Jisung returned to his task of wiping the table. “What are you doing here, Y/N?”

It was irrational to expect Jisung to raise his voice to defend himself from Jaemin’s scolding. Jisung was subordinate to Jaemin in friendship and especially in the workplace hierarchy. Always, you were proud of your brother’s peaceful temperament. Proud and, at that moment, annoyed. 

“Mom and dad asked me to drive you home after your shift that was supposed to end over an hour ago.” 

Jisung’s lips rounded into a tiny ‘o,’ and he turned to Jaemin for confirmation of the time. 

Jaemin didn’t notice, though. He was quietly studying you with narrowed eyes. “You’re Jisung’s sister?”

“Yeah,” you nodded stiffly. “I’m the reason you lost your little video game tournament.”

Your words were intended as a blunt weapon, but Jaemin laughed. His smile was almost blinding as he swept his hair out of his face with slender coffee-stained fingers. “Oh yeah. Well, don’t sweat that. I forgive ya!”

Before you could explain that you weren’t apologizing— that neither you nor Jisung had done anything to warrant begging forgiveness— Jaemin winked, “As long as you go on a date with me!”

You imagined your reaction looked a lot like Jisung’s: hanging jaws and wide-eyed blinking. Objectively, it was flattering that someone as cute as Jaemin (excluding his temper) would flirt with you even as a mindless pastime. Even if Jaemin hadn’t made two terrible first impressions, even if he wasn’t one of Jisung’s little buddies, even if your pride would allow you to give in to his charms, one dreadful fact remained: 

“I have a boyfriend.” 

On cue, Jisung rolled his eyes. Grinding his teeth, he dropped his gaze on the table. 

“Oh.” Jaemin’s shoulders fell, and his smile barely faltered. The smile, you realized, wasn’t an expression of happiness; his lips were almost permanently set in a toothy grin, even if it didn’t quite reach his eyes. 

_**That must be inconvenient,** _you thought. _**Does he smile even when he’s sad? Or when he’s angry?**_

When Jaemin looked up at Jisung, his eyes crinkled fondly. All traces of past frustration had vanished. “Goodnight, Jisung. I’ll see ya tomorrow!”

Slowing his movements to a near-complete stop, Jisung started, “But I’m not finished—”

Jaemin shot him a pointed look. As quickly as it had calmed, his temper flared. “Don’t keep your sister waiting. I’ll close up.”

Just as you opened your mouth— to thank Jaemin, or to apologize for your impatience, or to offer to help clean or at least sit quietly while waiting for them to finish— your phone rang. Your mother was calling probably to ask why you weren’t yet home with Jisung in tow. 

“Come on,” you urged Jisung gently after silencing your ringer and quietly resolving to have him call her once you were in the car. “We should go. Mom is worried.”

After looking at Jaemin once more for permission and receiving a courteous nod, Jisung untied his apron and folded it on the counter before Jaemin. “Thanks. I’ll see ya tomorrow.” 

Had Jisung been less mature, he would have teased you for abandoning your decision to dislike Jaemin after seeing him just once and exchanging only a few words. Instead, he focused on returning your mother’s call to recount his day at school (where he aced his first final exam) and his first day at work (where his friend Jaemin taught him how to make all kinds of coffee and pastries while defending him from the jokes of other teenage workers). 

Silence fell over the car after Jisung ended the call. You drummed your thumbs on the steering wheel, anticipating that he must have saved some exciting story for your ears only, just as he always had. But no sound came from the passenger seat. 

Your heart sank. No, you couldn’t blame him for being mad or embarrassed by you. Not only had you treated him like a defenseless infant— as always— you were also rude to his friend. 

Yes, you had walked in on Jaemin lecturing Jisung, but at least he had been considerate enough to wait until the cafe was empty to voice is criticisms. All day, while you were too busy at school to do it yourself, Jaemin acted as Jisung’s guardian and protector. And no, you hadn’t forgotten that Jaemin screamed at Jisung and made his face flush because of a stupid video game, but it was clear from watching their interactions and from hearing how proudly Jisung talked about him that they held no grudges. Who were you, then, to hold on to one on Jisung’s behalf? 

“I’m sorry,” you muttered. An apologetic glance over at the passenger seat revealed that Jising had fallen fast asleep. His head was leaned against the window, and his mouth hung agape; faint snores filled the silence. 

As you decided to let him sleep, Jisung jolted awake. His face almost crashed into the dashboard. 

“Alright there, partner?” You hummed like you used to in the days when you played Toy Story with him from dusk until dawn. 

“Yeah.” Jisung nodded groggily as he settled back and reclined his seat. “Did ya say something while I was sleeping, partner?”

Again, you readied your apology, but you hesitated to deliver it as you sensed Jisung’s smile like gentle sun rays illuminating your skin. He wasn’t upset. He didn’t expect an apology. Yet, you felt you owed him one anyway. 

He moped, “What’s wrong?”

You shook your head. Although you were sorry, you didn’t have to express that with a long winded speech he wouldn’t understand. You could express it instead through actions. You could express it through jokes. 

“I said Jaemin is a real cutie.” Without glancing away from the road, you winked. 

Because you expected Jisung to gag— who wants to hear their sister call their friend cute?— you were surprised when he simply warned, “You have a boyfriend, remember?” You weren’t surprised, however, that he choked around the word ‘boyfriend.’

“Why don’t you like him? My boyfriend, I mean?”

Had you looked over, you would have seen Jisung cross his arms and turn his gaze out the window. “Why do you like him?”

Jisung so rarely disliked anyone, his disapproval of your boyfriend made you wary of the romance— if you could even call it a romance. After months of back and forth, he finally decided that you could call him your boyfriend. Because you spent so much time and energy chasing that ideal, the half-formed thought of being with him, you couldn’t quite let it go even though the dull reality paled (soured, even) to the dream. 

You should have been able to answer Jisung’s question. It was a dooming sign, your inability to name one reason why you liked your boyfriend that hadn’t been dashed by being his girlfriend. Rather than heeding the sign, however, you clutched the wool over your eyes and turned the radio on. 

* * *

“Believe it or not, babe, I’d like to have one date that’s not about babysitting your little brother,” your boyfriend said through a mouthful of rice.

Rejection was an almost daily occurrence, but you reddened nonetheless. “First of all, my brother isn’t that young. He’s eighteen.” Yes, to you, Jisung was a precious baby; but you had to deny his youthfulness to defend him from your boyfriend’s criticism. To mask your blossoming blush, you took a sip of your tea. “Second of all, it’s not a date. I told Jisung I would take him and his friends to the arcade if he got good grades on all his exams. I’m inviting you to be nice.”

To be nice. To try again to be a better girlfriend because maybe that would make him a better boyfriend. To subject yourself, again, to disappointment because maybe that would be the final one to sever your ties. 

He had stopped listening, opting instead to scroll through his phone. “Whatever.”

Before he could look up and make his millionth appeal for a date in the privacy of your bedroom, before he could reiterate his rejection, you forced yourself onto your feet. “Yeah. Whatever.”

Although you would be almost an hour early to class, you raced out of the cafeteria. Had you been thinking more clearly— had you been able to breathe comfortably enough to think around him at all— you would have tried again to break up with him. It wasn’t a mystery why Jisung hated him, you admitted to yourself as you dashed through the deserted hallway. He was determined to employ every negative tactic to occupy your every thought; he refused to encourage your interaction with others, even your own brother; he thought only of keeping you to himself. 

And yet, he could ignore you for days, leaving you to wonder what you had done wrong to inflict the latest silence. When you would forcefully swallow your dwindling pride to invite him to spend time together, he would reject your advances because they weren’t intimate enough. 

Until you were trapped in that cycle, you couldn’t comprehend how hard— impossible— they are to break from. In a few scattered moments, like the one where you sat with your back pressed against the wall and knees drawn up to your chest, it was undeniable: you were miserable. Rather than finding the strength to end the relationship, instead of embracing the uncertainty of freedom, you prayed that he would let you go. If he was so uninterested, why couldn’t he just walk away? 

You knew the sickening answer. Nobody ever liked him before you did. Clinging to you— even if it meant breaking you— was the only way he could hold the illusion of self-worth. Putting you down, making you beg for acknowledgment, was the only way he could stand over anyone. You walked into this situation by pining after somebody who never wanted you; maybe, then, you deserved to be unhappy. 

As students flooded out of the classroom and into the hall, you wiped at your eyes with ice-cold hands. You weren’t crying; you were just trying to wipe the tired dark circles off. 

“Y/N!” Someone called on their way out of the classroom. 

It was Jaemin, beaming and waving both hands excitedly as if greeting an old friend— as if you hadn’t treated him so unfairly during your first and only prior meeting. 

That pinch of guilt and whatever dread caused by your boyfriend faded when Jaemin slung his yellow backpack onto the floor at your feet before crashing into the space on the bench next to you. 

“Gotta leave room for others,” he justified when you raised an eyebrow as he stretched his arm along the back of the bench around your shoulders. 

“Right,” you nodded dubiously. “What are you doing here, Jaemin?”

“Ouch— icy—” he winced, playfully smiling all the while. “Just give me a chance, and I’ll prove that I’m worthy of sitting with you!”

“I don’t doubt it.” He blushed at your honest attempt at flattery, and you continued, “But that’s not what I meant. Why are you doing here at my school?”

Jaemin shrugged. “It’s not just your school.”

Your eyes widened. “You go to school here?” He nodded. “Really? I could have sworn you were Jisung’s age and that he met you at his high school—”

“Nope.” Jaemin popped the ‘p’ proudly. “I hope you didn’t reject me just because you thought I was too young!” You laughed, and he winked, “It’s okay if ya did. I’ll give you another chance to date me.” 

You shook your head, almost in a futile attempt to convince yourself that your heart didn’t flutter with the growth of Jaemin’s smile.

“Just playing.” He dropped the arm resting behind your shoulders to act as a barrier between your bodies. “Jisung said you really have a boyfriend, so I probably shouldn’t flirt with you.” 

Blushing at the information that Jaemin and Jisung talked about you, you blurted, “He wouldn’t mind.” Your hand clamped over your mouth too late to prevent them from filling the air. 

“Who?” Jaemin’s head tilted curiously. “Jisung or your boyfriend?” You didn’t answer, so Jaemin tried another question: “Would you mind?”

Eager to escape, you flinched off of the bench. “Sorry, Jaemin— gotta get to class.” As much as you loathed your boyfriend, as much as you were starting to like Jaemin, outright flirting wasn’t right. 

You couldn’t control what Jaemin did. Diving to reach your hand, he didn’t seem to care too much that you had a boyfriend. Then again, he probably didn’t have to care; he wasn’t obligated to consider any feelings but his own. 

Undeterred by your gasp and smirking because you didn’t yank your hand out of his grasp, he asked, “You’re going to the arcade with Jisung this weekend, right?”

It shouldn’t have been a big deal— touching somebody’s hand— but you couldn’t quite breathe because of Jaemin’s touch. Numbly, overwhelmed with unfamiliar emotions that clouded your thoughts, you nodded. “Yeah. Who do you think is paying for all the tokens and pizza?”

“Huh?” In his surprise, Jaemin dropped your hand. You could breathe again. His eyes narrowed. “Not you. I’ll pay.”

You shook your head. “Jisung is my brother, and I promised to take him and his little friends—”

“Do you even know how many people he invited?” When you responded with another shake of your head, Jaemin counted on his hand, “Renjun, Jeno, Haechan, Chenle, and me. Excluding me— because I’m not letting you pay my way— and including Jisung, that’s five boys you’re promising to pay for. Five boys—” he wiggled his fingers menacingly— “who live on pizza and games.”

Forcing your arms through the straps of your backpack, you chuckled at his dramatic delivery. “If they’re so expensive, why are you so determined to pay for them yourself?”

“Because you shouldn’t have to—”

Your alarm sounded to signal that your class would start in five minutes. “I have to go to class, Jaemin, so we’ll have to bicker about this later—”

As you dismissed the alarm with the tap of your thumb, Jaemin yanked your phone away. “Here. I’ll give you my number.” His eyes twinkled when they met yours, and a corner of his lips flicked upward in a teasing smile as he clarified, “Just so we can discuss this payment business. Don’t get any funny ideas.”

* * *

  


Despite your promise to Jisung not to waste the night staring at the door waiting for your boyfriend, you sat alone at a small table doing just that for at least thirty minutes after Jisung ran into the arcade with his friends. Were you hoping he would show up? Not because you wanted to play skeeball with him or anything. You just wanted— needed— for the silence born after your last conversation in the cafeteria to end. As expected, your humbling texts had gone unanswered; there was no reason to think he had changed his mind about coming to the arcade. 

_**He’s not coming.**_ Again, always, you were caught between relief and anxiety. Your sweaty palms clutched the edges of your seat. **_I’ll give him ten more minutes. Ten more minutes, and then I’m having fun with or without him._**

But it was impossible to have fun with him. That truth was never more blatant than when Jaemin plopped into the chair next to you. 

He boasted, “I gave the children money to buy pizza,” in a voice made raspy to emulate old age, “per our agreement.”

That was the compromise reached via texts: Jaemin would pay for all food, and you would pay for arcade access. 

Jaemin’s characteristic sterling smile dimmed as he noticed your frown and how you nervously eyed the door and compulsively checked your phone. “Are you expecting someone?” You hesitated to respond, and he warned, “The kids will be here any minute, so you should tell me what’s bugging you quickly. That way, we can work through it while we still have some privacy.”

His earnest stare prompted you to blurt, “My boyfriend.” Noting Jaemin’s frown, you squirmed through your stresses. “I invited him— who knows why— and he said that he wanted to have a date without my brother tagging along— so, obviously, I stormed off— and we haven’t talked in two days— which isn’t that long, but I don’t know what to say to fix things— and he isn’t even here, and—”

Jaemin blinked like Jisung always did when your worries bubbled out of your mouth, so you cut yourself off. Jaemin’s mouth fell open, and it stayed open as he struggled to form a response. 

“I’m sorry.” You shrank in your seat. “I shouldn’t have told you that.”

Aside from feeling guilty for dumping your feelings on someone, you hated yourself for spilling them all over Jaemin of all people. Jaemin, who always smiled and didn’t deserve to be burdened with your self-inflicted troubles. Jaemin, who flirted with you, and somehow liked you, and didn’t want to hear about your boyfriend. 

“I don’t think you have to apologize. To me or to him.” Jaemin’s smile slowly returned, and guilt eased its clutch around you. “No offense, but anyone who doesn’t want to hang out with you and Jisung is lame. And I’m not just saying that because I like—”

Your soaring heart came crashing down when Haechan cheered, “We come bearing pizza!” The other boys followed behind him, each carrying two boxes of pizza. 

After Renjun returned Jaemin’s debit card and the boys claimed a seat— notably, Jisung sat at your side and smiled brightly— Jaemin glared at nobody in particular. “Do you think you got enough to eat? Seriously, guys, ten pizzas are excessive! You can’t just take advantage of my generosity—”

“Jaemin,” you interrupted calmly, fighting the urge to giggle at his nagging with the other boys. “It’s okay. If it matters so much, I’ll pay you back.”

“What?” He gasped. “No, don’t! Besides, money isn’t the point—”

“Generosity!” Chenle cackled and flicked a piece of pepperoni at Jaemin; he dodged the attack. “You just bought us dinner to impress Jisung’s big sister!”

The others, excluding Jisung, chorused, _“Ooooh.”_ All, except the laughing Jeno, partook in flinging pizza toppings at Jaemin. 

Burning a faint shade of pink from his neck up Jaemin screeched, “Yah! Cut it out! I dressed nicely—”

Jeno wiggled his eyebrows before sinking his teeth into a slice of cheese pizza. “Jaemin dressed nicely to impress Jisung’s sister!”

And the boys (minus Jisung, who sat quietly at your side, cheeks stuffed full) again sang _“Ooooh,”_ until your face and Jaemin’s both colored crimson. 

In what must have been an attempt to defend you from his friends’ teasing Jisung swallowed his mouthful and chirped, “She has a name! It’s Y/N!”

Jisung’s attempt backfired. 

“ _Ooooh!_ Jaemin and Y/N, sitting in a tree. . .”

As the boys sang their silly song, and you laughed out loud for the first time all night, Jaemin’s annoyance or embarrassment vanished. Grinning, he flew out of his seat, grabbed you by the hand, and pulled you toward the arcade. “Hope you got all the pizza you wanted!”

Although you couldn’t really care less about eating more pizza, you yelled over children’s laughter and game sound effects, “You don’t think they’ll leave me any?”

“Jisung might try to save you some, but it’ll get all cold if one of the guys doesn’t steal it. You and I are gonna be here for a while.” He dropped your hand to point up at a shelf of plush prizes. “Which one do you want?”

The giant mint green llama instantly caught your eye. You fumbled with an answer because, “Jaemin, those cost, like, 5,000 tickets!”

He retrieved a neon green play card from his back pocket, twirled it between his fingers, and winked. “4,902 electronic tickets, baby! Pick your prize, and we’ll get the other 98 tickets!”

“How— why—” You stuttered, flustered by Jaemin’s utterly unromantic use of the word ‘baby.’

“I come here a lot,” Jaemin shrugged, “and I already have a bunch of those plushes. It’s a little childish, but they always make me feel better when I’m feeling down.” 

**Oh.** So this was his response to your rambling about your boyfriend. He wouldn’t tell you to just break up with him if you were so miserable like your girlfriends did before casually moving on to the next topic of idle gossip. He wouldn’t sulk with you like Jisung. Jaemin would go out of his way to teach you to have fun. 

“Pick one!” Jaemin urged again, brushing his elbow against your ribs until you went weak with laughter. Before you could trip over your own feet, he secured you around the waist. As he parted his lips, probably to tease your clumsiness, his gaze followed where you pointed. “Ah, the llama. Cute. Let’s go!” He grabbed your hand again and sped to the wall of skeeball machines because, as he explained, that game was the quickest (and most fun) way to earn tickets. 

“We don’t have to run everywhere,” you wheezed, doubling over. 

Having knelt down to swipe his play card, Jaemin looked up and stole your little remaining breath with his smile. “Come on, Y/N, breathlessness is part of the fun!” Seeing that you were scrambling to pull your card out of your pocket, Jaemin swiped his again through your machine before standing upright. 

“Jaemin!” You swatted at him gently, and he spun away from the contact. “I’m supposed to pay for the games! That’s what we agreed on!”

Your scolding elicited a burst of laughter. Shaking his card at you, Jaemin defended, “The points are on my card.” A single eyebrow arched. “If you want that adorable llama, you gotta let me pay.”

Because he turned his attention to his game and started launching ball after ball into the center target before you could reply, he didn’t see your small smile. “Under that cute exterior,” you mirrored his posture as you started your game, “you’re really quite cunning.”

Rather than fixating on the insult, Jaemin noticed the compliment. “Cute,” he mimicked your high pitch. “You think I’m cute?” He glanced out of the corner of his eye to gauge your expression and snorted as your ball sank into the gutter. “Oops! Am I too cute? Am I distracting you?”

To your relief, your blush was washed out by the blinking arcade lights. “You’re not distracting me because you’re cute.” You balanced the lie with a partial truth: “You’re distracting because you’re annoying.”

“Ouch,” He whistled. His game announced, ‘New High Score!’ and he celebrated by pumping a fist into the air before turning to you. “Every time I think you’re starting to like me back just a little, you cut me right back down.”

Well aware of how flirtatiously Jaemin would interpret your words, you decided to say, ** _‘I do like you.’_** The words were dancing on the tip of your tongue, but you swallowed them back at the sudden reappearance of Jisung and his band of friends. 

“Found ‘em!” Haechan declared as if you had been playing hide-and-seek. 

This is a good thing, you told yourself as your game ended without all the fanfare Jaemin’s high score earned. I would have regretted confusing Jaemin’s feelings. Some true things are better left unsaid. 

“Ah, these kids are ruining the experience,” Jaemin grumbled playfully. Shoving his hands into the pockets of light blue acid-washed jeans, he asked the boys, “What do you need now?”

“We just wanted to check in on our favorite budding romance.” Renjun’s jest received laughter from the other boys and a dramatic eyeroll from Jaemin. 

While Jaemin suggested, “Find your own girls and stop following us like a bunch of weirdos,” Jisung stepped up to your side. 

“Want these?” He held out his joined hands that cupped a rainbow assortment of hard candies. “I won them out of a machine!” Your brother beamed at his accomplishment when you popped a candy into your mouth.

Stuffing a wrapper and a couple of pieces into your pockets, you smiled at him. “Thank ya, Jisung!” The cherry flavored jawbreaker muffled your voice. You nearly choked on your laughter when Jisung bent his knees and leaned forward so you could pat his head of pink-brown hair in proud gratitude. 

“Now that the adorable sibling bonding is out of the way,” Chenle said, “we’re gonna play laser tag. We know you two—” his eyes flickered from you to Jaemin— “would rather make out by the skeeball machines—”

You gasped, and Jisung shouted, “Hey!” He stomped to Chenle and towered over him. Jisung’s height alone would have been daunting if he didn’t have the face of a baby even when glowering. “Don’t be a gross pervert! That’s my sister!”  
Chenle’s hands rose in mock surrender. “I’m not the one making out with—”

“Anyway—” As you facepalmed, Jeno intervened by stepping between Chenle and Jisung. “We’re gonna play laser tag, if you wanna _**tag**_ along!” Jeno laughed at his own pun, and you removed your hand from your face to flash a polite grin. 

Jaemin replied with a shake of his head that sent his bangs falling into his eyes. “Nah, we’re not gonna play. Thanks for asking.”

“We’re not?” You wrinkled your forehead. 

You weren’t offended by Jaemin’s eagerness to speak on your behalf; you were just surprised that he didn’t run at the opportunity to explore the arcade with his friends. That was why he showed up, right? To spend time with Jisung. 

Ignoring Chenle’s joking, “Ooooh, trouble in paradise!” Jaemin explained through a nervous grin, “We can’t get tickets from playing laser tag. If we want that llama, we gotta stay focused!”

“Huh?” Jisung’s eyes resembled saucers as he sucked on a piece of candy. “Llama? You’re not gonna pay tag?”

You didn’t withstand your brother’s disappointed stare because you wanted to win some silly stuffed animal. This was wrong— now, you thought, you actually deserved your boyfriend’s disapproval— but you enjoyed having Jaemin’s attention to yourself. 

That’s why grinned, “Gotta win that llama!” earning Jaemin’s high five. 

Teasing you must have lost its appeal; wordlessly nodding, the boys— except Jisung, who stood staring at you— set off to play laser tag. Realizing that Jisung would otherwise be left behind, Renjun ushered him away, muttering, “You’ll understand when you’re older.”

Moments passed without words after Jaemin started another round of skeeball. 

The silence ended when Jaemin said, “You don’t have to look so guilty.” His voice, softer than usual, was almost lost amid booming sound effects and laughter and screams of triumph and despair. “Jisung won’t stay hung up on us for long. He’s an adaptable kid.”

You couldn’t explain that the guilt twisting your gut had little to do with the look you put on your brother’s face. Honesty would have required admitting aloud that spending this time with Jaemin was a sin; then, you would have to stop out of respect for the never-present boyfriend who didn’t care to show you any consideration. And you didn’t want to stop. And you didn’t want to ruin the playful atmosphere by vocalizing your distress. And you didn’t want to overwhelm Jaemin’s crush on you if it were as shallow as you imagined. 

_**We’re just having fun,**_ you argued to the voice in the shadows of your mind that demanded an justification for your joy. 

The voice in your mind sounded a lot like the one booming in your ears, the voice of your boyfriend, the voice that stunned you stiff. Those defensive thoughts— they weren’t just thoughts; they were also stuttered excuses you forced through trembling lips as he glared down at you, his fingers digging into your arms so roughly that it would have hurt if you weren’t embarrassed— numb. Numb except for the agonizing thundering of your heart. 

People were staring. People were listening to him scold, “I wouldn’t have bothered coming to this stupid place if I’d known you were here to hook up with some stupid kid you found at the claw machine.” 

He cut his eyes at Jaemin and crushed you with the realization that you were not trapped in a dream turned nightmare. He wouldn’t disappear with the opening of your eyes, yet you blinked once, twice, thrice, in the hope that he would. 

Jaemin was a s stunned as you were. Dark maroon splotches welted every visible inch of his skin; his chest rapidly rose and fell under his white t-shirt; his hands were clenched in tight fists pressed to his side; his jaw was forced shut, lips pressed into a thin line. 

“He is _ **not**_ a stupid kid.” Emboldened by the instinct to stand up for Jaemin, you didn’t shrink under your boyfriend’s cold, piercing stare. “He’s practically my age, and we aren’t even hooking up—” You liked Jaemin, and that perversion of your relationship made all of your hairs stand on end. “He’s my friend.”

“Your friend.” Your boyfriend’s laugh was hollow. Again, he was going to remind you that nobody was interested in you. Jabbing a finger at Jaemin without breaking your eye contact, he accused, “That kid is no more interested in ‘friendship’ with you than I am.”

At some point, you would have believed it. At some point, those words would have hurt you, but they had been spoken so often that they lost their sting. He had always been like this— cruel— even when you had willed yourself oblivious. Until now, you forced yourself to say whatever might guarantee temporary peace. 

What was so different now? 

Maybe now that you realized there were people like Jaemin, who would enjoy your company without the promise of anything in return, you couldn’t subject yourself to mistreatment. Maybe Jaemin’s smile broke through the darkness your boyfriend insisted encompassed the entire world; maybe Jaemin’s smile exposed your relationship’s emptiness; maybe you understood at last there was nothing there worth saving with forced silence. 

“Let go of me.” You met your boyfriend’s eyes, voice wavering only slightly because the words were unfamiliar in your mouth. “Go away. You don’t want anything to do with me, and I don’t want anything to do with you either. So just— just—”

The tears that pooled in his eyes were inauthentic. Despite recognizing the deliberate attempt at manipulation, you tread that dangerous line between freedom and captivity, between apology and honesty, until he pushed you out of his grasp. 

You couldn’t even be relieved; he turned and towered over Jaemin who, somehow, was not intimidated by his size. Jaemin, who stood proudly when faced with the force that had been strangling you, extinguishing you for months. 

“Ease up, kid,” he growled, “I’m not gonna hit you.”

Jaemin did not change in his posture, and your boyfriend clicked his tongue in annoyance; you flinched at the sound, and Jaemin didn’t bat an eyelash. 

“Whatever. You want her so badly?” Jaemin nodded so wildly that your boyfriend would have seen if he hadn’t focused his eyes on you to watch you crumble as he said, “Take her, then. She’s nothing to me.”

You weren’t winded so much by what he said; you decided just moments ago that he could not determine your worth. But how could anybody spout cruelty so easily? How could he easily turn away from his latest attempt to break you when you could never work up the nerve to gently walk away from him? You couldn’t understand. 

And you couldn’t quite process the public break up until after noticing that the once bustling arcade had gone silent safe for the few scattered whispers— all about you. It was not quite real until you felt the eyes of strangers prying into you in search of the worth he could never find. The humiliation didn’t quite dawn on you until you met Jaemin’s gaze— overwhelmed, frightened, saddened. 

Jaemin’s stare. That’s what drove you to seek solace on a bench under the moonlight sky. 

The unseasonably cool blowing breeze reminded you that you never deserved to hold Jaemin’s attention. What had he even seen in you that day you stormed into the cafe to retrieve Jisung? You had been sweaty, irritable, dismissive of his friendship with Jisung and his inexplicable interest in you. Undesirable in appearance and in deed; yet somehow Jaemin could smile at you. You couldn’t understand. 

After that confrontation, he would never smile at you the same way. How weak must you have sounded, stuttering like a fool? How foolish must you have seemed for allowing someone so careless and cruel to stand close to your heart? 

**Weak. Foolish. Undesirable. Unworthy.**

The words you thought of yourself were unfair, untrue, and yet you could not stop thinking them. In an effort to ignore the thoughts you couldn’t control, you wedged your phone out of your pocket. Gifsets were always guaranteed to brighten your mood. 

Your mood soured further, though, after dismissing a wall of texts from your boyfriend— well, ex-boyfriend and after reading a text from your friend, who sent you a screenshot of your ex’s Instagram account. The picture depicted a rather tasteless kiss between himself and a girl who wasn’t you with a caption that read: _‘Guess I don’t have to keep the best thing that ever happened to me a secret anymore. Guess Y/N and I were both two-timers.’_

The screen went black, and you slammed the phone down at your side. After publicly accusing you of cheating with Jaemin, your ex revealed the reason why he never wanted you, why he preferred to go days without talking, why he never wanted to spend any time with you: there was somebody else. The problem was never you; the problem was always him. 

Somehow, deep down, or right at the surface, you had always known. So rather than feeling relieved or vindicated, you hated yourself for ignoring your parents and Jisung and the careful voice in your head that said, _**‘let go, run,’**_ long before you met Jaemin and started falling for his smile slowly and then all at once. 

Footsteps slapped on the pavement from afar, and you sucked a breath in. Nobody could see you— not until you had worked through your storm of emotions— so you tugged your legs, bare below your striped shorts, up onto the bench and contorted to conceal yourself in the building’s shadow. 

Jaemin found you with little effort. He wasted no time in running to you and didn’t think twice before sitting beside you just as closely as he had at school days ago. His eyes were different now: wide with concern, no longer sparkling with mischief. 

Unable to stand how he looked at you— as if you were breaking— you crossed your arms over your knees and buried your face in the bend of your elbow. “Stop looking at me like that, Jaemin.”

Although he had done nothing wrong, Jaemin apologized. “I’m sorry. And I’m sorry that happened, and I’m sorry I caused it—”

“You didn’t cause it.” The urge to console Jaemin overwhelmed the urge to hide. You lowered your feet onto the concrete and, to comfort him, rested your arm on the back of the bench, just behind his shoulders. “That guy— he’s always been a big—”

You wouldn’t have known how to describe your ex-boyfriend if your phone hadn’t interrupted you with a sharp buzz that likely signaled another incoming text from your friend. Jaemin grabbed your phone although you were content to leave the messages unread, and the screen lit up in his hand. 

Jaemin’s mouth fell open as he instinctively scanned the message. “He— he had the nerve to scream at you in front of all those people when he’s been kissing—”

Rage tightened around Jaemin’s vocal chords, and he shoved the phone back into the narrow space between your bodies. “I don’t get it. People like that— how do they get anyone to like them? And how can they just treat people— why do they— I—” He raked his fingers through his hair, drawing a deep ragged breath. 

Staring up at the moon and willing your voice to stay even, you mumbled, “I don’t get it either. I guess— you know— I read once that we accept the love we think we deserve.” 

Did you believe that line you found in a book? Is that why you could never break things off? 

Jaemin pulled his legs up onto the bench and crossed them so he could face you fully. “Hey.” He reached for your hand, and this time there was no playful smirk when you didn’t flinch from his touch. Once you mirrored his posture to face him too, he said, “You deserve better. A lot better. And by that, I don’t mean that you deserve me, even though I’d like—”

As if you weren’t leaning into his every word, Jaemin caught his tongue and stared down at his hand holding yours. 

When words failed, you returned his small act of affection by curling your fingers around his hand. “I really want to deserve you, Jaemin. Someday soon.” 

Had you given into the desire to look at him, you would have seen his eyebrows knitting together. “I don’t know what you mean. If it has anything to do with what that jerk said—”

“It doesn’t,” you said immediately despite your failed efforts to silence his nagging voice in the corner of your mind. “You’re just so bright and beautiful, and I was so quick to judge you for yelling at Jisung—”

“Wait, when did I— oh, are you talking about when I got onto him that time after work?”

You nodded slowly, tracing over his knuckles. “And when you yelled at him over that video game.”

“You actually heard that?” At his feeble tone, you finally looked up at Jaemin. In the pale moonlight, his blush was a glowing pink. He scratched at the back of his neck with his free hand. “I’m sorry. I apologized to Jisung, too. I guess it’s not an excuse, but my temper isn’t all that great when I lose games. And that time after work—”

“I know you weren’t trying to bully him. You were trying to help him improve, and now I know that you just like to nag—”

Jaemin huffed, “I do _**not**_ nag!”

  
“— and I’m sorry that I misunderstood you. It’s not an excuse, but I am too protective of Jisung because he’s the most precious person in the world. I didn’t know that you knew that too. I’m sorry.” 

Jaemin blinked, unsure of what to do with your apologies. “I _**like**_ that you’re protective of Jisung. I _**like**_ that when some big jerk is yelling at you, you think to defend me from his lame insults. That’s who you are, and it’s nothing to apologize for— especially because I _**like**_ you.”

He **liked** you. After all of that chaos, Jaemin still liked you. Such a small word— **like** — meant so much because you couldn’t remember the last time someone who wasn’t Jisung said it to you and meant it. You didn’t try to fight the smile tugging at your lips. 

If you were defined by protectiveness of Jisung and Jaemin, then Jaemin was defined by buying pizza for his friends (and nagging about it), and offering a hard-earned collection of 4,902 tickets to brighten your day with a cute stuffed animal, and holding your hand in the aftermath of utter humiliation. 

You couldn’t keep the fact to yourself, and you didn’t want to: “I like you too, Jaemin.” 

He looked at you, and silence hung in the air as you stood together on the edge of something new. Should you say something to define it? Would taking that dive dampen the chemistry that formed despite old oppressive labels? 

You didn’t agonize long before Jaemin leaped off the bench and extended his hand to you. “Come on,” he implored, wearing that broad smile that gave your heart the wings to soar from its finally broken restraints. “We gotta go win that llama!”

You didn’t hesitate to take his hand; you didn’t hesitate to seize the moment with him, wherever it led. 

* * *

  


  


  


* * *

Had you anticipated when stepping into the warm cafe from the chilly Autumn breeze that there would be so many college-aged students sitting around sipping down lattes and munching through muffins, you would have held onto the sunshine yellow gift bag longer and sought Jaemin at school tomorrow. Having stood in line far too long to just walk away without achieving your goal, you waited patiently, trying to repress your mounting anxiety, until Jeno noticed you from behind the register. 

“Y/N!” He smiled and motioned you to the front, deaf to the groans of customers who resented your special treatment. “Jaemin!” He yelled into the kitchen, “It’s time for your break!” After shooting an enthusiastic thumbs up that suspended your nerves, Jeno returned to serving customers. 

“Huh?” Jaemin filled the doorway, brow furrowed and lips pursed as he argued, “I’m not scheduled—” 

He shrieked at the sight of you and, as you laughed, he shedded his chocolate stained cream apron. Combing his fingers through his hair, he said, “Jisung isn’t here, ya know.” 

“I know,” you nodded. “I’m not here for Jisung.”

“Then why—”

At last, Jaemin’s eyes fell on the gift bag, and he presented you with his signature breath-taking smile. “Ah, I see!” He wagged a finger as he crossed the dark tiled floor, linked his arm with yours, and led you out into the golden afternoon. 

Sitting on the bench just outside the cafe and jugging you to his side, Jaemin beamed, “You couldn’t resist seeing me on my birthday!”

You teased, “For once, your delusions are spot on.” Too nervous to hand over the bag, you clutched it and glanced around at the browning treeline. “Is this our thing, Nana? Sitting on benches and holding hands?”

The blush that colored his face whenever you called him by his nickname never failed to tickle your heart. “Yep,” he hummed and laced his fingers (warm) through yours (cold). “I’m not gonna have to let go when I open that present, am I?”

His free hand reached out for the gift, and you couldn’t cling to it any longer. Sucking in a breath, you watched as he yanked out the white tissue paper; you released the breath only when his eyes sparkled while he freed the puny pink plush llama from the bag. 

“Did you win this from the arcade?” His smile, already too big for this dull world, grew with the nod of your head. 

“I can’t take all the credit,” you giggled when Jaemin touched the llama’s muzzle to your face again and again in time with the puckering of his lips to simulate kisses. “The idea was all mine, but Jisung helped me earn the tickets. Obviously, we’re not as good at games as you are—” Jaemin winked at the flattery— “so that’s why the prize isn’t as big as the one you won for me once upon a time.”

Jaemin didn’t seem to think less of the gift because of its size. “Ah, this is the best birthday!” he yelled into the cloudy Autumn sky. He released your hand only so he could hug the llama to his chest. “Thank you so much!”

Your heart softened. “You’re welcome!” Looking into the bag, you added, “I think there’s a card too.” 

You didn’t think; you knew there was a card without having to look into the bag for the thousandth time that day. The card— or, more specifically, the note inside— was what made your nerves tremble. 

Although you wanted some relief from the pounding of your heart, you couldn’t quite keep your eyes from admiring Jaemin’s face as he laughed at the silly googly-eyed puppy on the card’s front. You couldn’t keep your gaze focused instead on the llama lying face up in his lap because you had to watch the lines deepen around his smile when his eyes darted up after studying your handwriting. 

“ _ **Ooooh,**_ ” Jaemin whistled at having caught you studying him. “You have a crush on me!”

“I—” 

“And you can’t deny it!” He flipped the card, and you were faced with your curly pink letterings. Finally, too embarrassed, you looked away. “Here it is in writing!”

Were Jaemin anyone else in the world, it would have been cruel— the clearing of his throat as he prepared to read your confession aloud. He pressed his cloud-soft palm to yours as he recited, “ _‘Nana, I never thought you would become my best friend’_ — after Jisung, I’m assuming— _‘And I never imagined that someone so bright and beautiful could exist in my life and steal my heart, but you have. You have, and I love you, and I’m ready to tell you_.’”

Jaemin looked at you again, this time without any trace of playfulness. This time, he waited for you to catch your breath. 

He was good at waiting for you; he had been from the day you stomped into the cafe. He especially proved his patience over the last few months by giving you all the pleasures of friendship— all the joys of having an adorable boy to text at any hour, to laugh with too loudly at lunch, to sit with on two-person benches until seconds turned into minutes that turned into hours. He didn’t even seem tired of waiting for your romance to start because, really, it had already started. 

But you were tired of waiting to call him yours. 

“It’s not a crush, Jaemin. I’m in love with you.” 

He must not have been surprised; he didn’t gasp, his eyes didn’t widen, he didn’t miss a beat before responding, “I really want to be your boyfriend. I don’t need the title to love you too, obviously, but I want it as soon as you’re ready. Please.” 

You had been ready for a while— for as long as you could remember— but you forced yourself to wait for Jaemin. While Jaemin probably thought that you were testing his devotion, that couldn’t have been further from the truth. Contrary to Jisung’s assumption (that you were waiting for certainty of your feelings), you did not once doubt the butterflies that had not stopped fluttering in your belly since you started cuddling with the mint-green llama to fall asleep. 

Maybe nobody else could understand that you were waiting for the wounds inflicted by your ex-boyfriend to heal. You never again wanted to bleed on Jaemin. You were waiting for the day that you could be as bright as the sun too. 

And that day had finally come, so you wasted no time in promising, “Okay, Nana. I’m ready.” 

Perhaps afraid that you would change your mind if asked to repeat yourself, or perhaps sensing your confidence, Jaemin asked for no clarification or justification of your feelings. After pumping a celebratory fist in the hair, he donned a victorious grin that you couldn’t resist capturing in a long-awaited whisper of a kiss. 

  


  


* * *

**BONUS SCENE:**

“You’re almost as dangerous in the kitchen as Jisung is,” Jaemin fussed, knocking you away from the oven by colliding into the side of your hip with his own. He made a spectacle of pulling canary yellow oven mitts over his hands. “These keep you from getting burned by 350° cookie sheets, silly!”  
You rolled your eyes at the reprimand while Jaemin pulled the chocolate chip cookies out of the oven and gingerly set them on the counter. “Yeah, yeah,” you huffed, accustomed to his eagerness to show you up anywhere and everywhere— especially in the kitchen, where years of experience at the cafe gave him a clear advantage. 

After turning the oven off and closing its door, Jaemin pointed and giggled at your pout. “Aw, don’t be sulky, baby!” He dropped the shedded oven mitts into their drawer. Crossing the distance between you in two steps, he pressed his palms flat on the countertop at either of your sides. He lowered his face to level with yours. “You’re kinda cute when you pout, though.” 

Butterflies fluttered in your stomach as Jaemin’s breath ghosted your lips. It wasn’t fair that you were always the breathless one. Quickly, before he could act first, you stretched to match your lips to his. 

His chocolate-flavored gasp was a short-lived reward. Always ready to adapt, always searching for a way to tease you, Jaemin was quick to turn your sweet, playful kiss into something that made your skin burn scarlet and legs turn to jelly. 

“Yah!” Jisung screamed upon entering the kitchen, and you pushed Jaemin away with all of your strength. Jisung never failed to slap a hand over his eyes after catching you deep in a kiss with Jaemin. His discoveries were growing in frequency, and his tolerance was wearing thin, as evidenced by his groan. “No place is safe! Not the cafe— not even during work hours; not Y/N’s car when you two pick me up after school—” 

Jaemin suggested, “You could take the bus—” 

“— not the arcade, definitely not the movie theater after last time, and now not the kitchen! Now, I can’t even walk around my own home without getting jumpscared!”

Jisung so rarely raised his voice, you were stunned silent. Jaemin, meanwhile, encouraged him, “You can walk around. Maybe just knock on doors first,” just to darken your blush. 

“There isn’t a door!” Jaemin pressed his back against a wall and gestured with one hand to the empty archway connecting the living room to the kitchen. “And you’re missing the point!”

“What is the point?” You hoped to make Jisung the target of Jaemin’s teasing, so as soon as Jisung dropped the hand covering his eyes to gawk at you incredulously, you wrapped your arms around Jaemin’s aproned waist and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I thought you wanted me to like Jaemin.” 

“Not like this!” Jisung’s whine struck a devilish spark in Jaemin’s eyes. Your mission was a success: Jaemin’s eyes fixed on your little brother. 

Frowning, Jaemin leaned into your embrace. “That’s not what you said when you gave me permission to ask Y/N out!”

“I thought she would reject you again!” 

When Jaemin gasped and pretended to faint in your arms, you laughed. “Well, Jisung, will any of my boyfriends meet your standards?”

“I don’t care that you’re dating.” Jisung tore his eyes away from Jaemin’s theatrics to root through the cabinets in search of a snack. The tips of his ears were blistered pink. “It’s just— the PDA—”

“Here.” Jaemin offered him a cookie and winked as he accepted it, “It’s not PDA if we’re not in public.” 

“Not this time,” Jisung grumbled through his mouthful of sugar. “Y/N, when do you think you’ll get tired of kissing Jaemin? I need to know when I can start walking around with my eyes open again.” 

Jaemin climbed onto the granite countertop, poked out his bottom lip, and kicked his sneakered feet like a small child. “Yeah! When are you gonna get tired of me?”

There was only one way to answer. 

“Never, of course!” You cheered before pecking at Jaemin’s now smiling lips. 

“Shameless!” Jisung shrieked, running out of the kitchen with a handful of cookies. “Absolutely shameless!” 

You and Jaemin shared in the golden laughter that colored your every day together. 


End file.
